Catalyst
by boundbythecurve
Summary: An unprepared world must turn to its forgotten Overwatch heroes when old enemies resurface. (Involves all characters even though they only let me list 4)
1. CH1 The World Can Always Use More Heroes

Winston closed the program transmitting his emergency message. He wistfully looked around at the chaos of his lab. The room waited patiently.

Athena's robotic voice broke the silence, "I hope you know what you're doing." Can disembodied AI's sound chiding?

After a beat, Winston sighed, "So do I."

Almost in response, his monitor rang with a call. It read _Tracer_. Winston's face lit up, as he adjusted his glasses. He touched a button on the monitor and Tracer's face appeared in front of him.

"Winston! I'm so happy to hear from you," beamed Tracer in her cheery British accent.

"I could say the same thing, Lena," Winston chuckled in reply. "How have you been?" But Tracer's face turn dower.

She finally found the words. "There was an attack. I tried to stop the assassin, but…" Tracer trailed off.

Winston was too weary to hide any surprise, "An assassin?". Tracer's eyes became glossy, even behind her orange goggles. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Tracer nodded her head gently. "I couldn't stop her," she added, pain on her face. Athena pulled up articles of the recent assassination of Mondatta on the monitor. His robotic body, draped in monk's clothes, lay shattered, half hanging outside of a car door. His followers wailing in anguish in the background. Winston stared in disbelief, then turned away in pain.

The room waited patiently, again.

"I'm so sorry Tracer. The world is still very broken," said Winston. Tracer nodded in agreement. "But that's why we have people like you, Lena," he added, bringing a smile to both of their faces.

"And you big guy," she returned in kind. "Are you recalling all Overwatch agents?" she followed.

"We need all the help we can get."

"Are you sure they all want to come back? Overwatch was banned. Outlawed across the world," Tracer's voice became meek.

"I don't know if they'll all come back," Winston conceded. "I don't really expect most of them to. But the world can always use more heroes." The mantra reflexively came out. The words felt comforting, like a warm blanket during a rainstorm. They'd both lost count of how many times they'd said that phrase.

The words galvanized Tracer. She puffed up her chest a bit, and her shoulders became less hunched-over.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked her commander.

"Bring in your chronal accelerator to my lab. Will you be able to get her alright?"

"I'll be there in a flash," Lena pepped.

Winston nodded, smiled, and then adjusted his glasses. "We've got some work to do."

* * *

Lindholm Torbjörn tinkered with a new shield in his workshop. His daughter, Brigitte, was welding a new mace in the corner, far away from anything flammable. _It only takes burning down your workshop once to learn your lesson_ , her father's phrase echoed in her head as she hummed to her work. Sparks illuminated the visor of her mask. The room filled with sounds of metal on metal and flames melting steel. The only things spoken all morning were the groans from the machines, and it was soon approaching lunch time.

A loud electronic beep sounded thrice over the cadence of the shop. Ingrid, Lindholm's wife, appeared on a digital screen, projected onto the only wall in the workshop not covered in hanging equipment. Lindholm looked up from his work, and his look of contemplation was replaced with a warm smile. "Alskling, good morning," he greeted his love.

Her long grey hair was braided behind her head. The wrinkles around her eyes only distinguished her already gorgeous features. "Morning Hjӓrtat. You missed breakfast this morning. Too excited to eat?" she asked playfully.

Lindholm chuckled bashfully. "Just tryin' to finish up this shield for our new friend." His face lost twenty years of wrinkles when he spoke to her. He looked like a schoolboy again, to her.

"I understand Lind. I'm happy to see you working so hard again. I haven't seen you this excited in…" he voice trailed off a bit. "...Years," she finished wistfully.

Lindholm rubbed the back of his head, feeling his white locks and remembering the years without Overwatch. He looked around his workshop, taking account of all that was there. His shop looked about the same as he'd left it all those years ago.

"Lunch is almost ready, and you have a visitor," Ingrid added.

"Another one?" Lindholm asked a bit surprised. But no sooner had he asked, he heard the bellow of Reinhardt outside of his shop, in his thick German accent, "Torbjörn! You old Mausi. We have been called, and we must answer."

Torbjörn's face lit up, but then became clouded with confusion. He looked to his wife and then daughter for clarification. Brigitte had already removed her mask after hearing the sound of Reinhardt's thunder. She gave her father a look of bemused exhaustion. Grease smeared her face, but she was unmistakably Ingrid's daughter, even with the red hair.

"Overwatch, papa." Brigitte explained as if the one word was enough. He father nodded in understanding. "I should have known," he chuckled. Torbjörn hopped off his stool and nearly skipped over to the workshop's main entrance. As soon as he opened the door, a great bear of a man scooped him off his feet in a gripping hug.

"Torbjörn! It's good to see you old friend," Reinhardt's voice reverberated in all of Torbjörn's body. Torbjörn didn't bother trying to break the hug, even though he hated being picked up like a child. He learned a long time ago there was no point in fighting against Reinhardt's embrace. Besides, he missed his friend.

Brigitte put down her torch and lined up for her bear hug, knowing it was inevitable. But Reinhardt didn't bother with turns, and scooped her into the hug too, shouting "Brigitte! It's good to see you again." He looked behind them, noticing the unfinished projects with fresh signs of work. He loosened his grip on them, saying, "Ah good, you're preparing for work. I'm glad you came around to your senses Brigitte."

"Well events seem to be getting decided for me lately," Brigitte replied.

Reinhardt released his two companions. He gave her a look of confusion. "What do you mean, Brigitte?"

Brigitte turned to her father, who returned her look. "We have a new guest, Reinhardt."

"A new guest? I don't understand," replied Reinhardt.

The pause in the commotion allowed the sound of robotic servos to be heard by all. Bastion, an old Omnic Siege Automaton, walked out from behind some trees chasing his bird friend around, playfully. A look of surprise and terror exploded on Reinhardt's face.

"Brigitte! Torbjörn! Look out!" Reinhardt tackled them both to the ground, giving cover to them with his body. The shouts alerted Bastion to danger. He looked around desperately for the danger Reinhardt had been referring to, but couldn't find any. He then dove to the ground, mimicking the actions of Reinhardt, covering his head with this robotic arms. His bird flew underneath him too.

Torbjörn, muffled, said, "No, no. It's ok Reinhardt. Let me up, you're crushing me."

"We need your turrets Torbjörn!" Reinhardt replied, seemingly unaware of what Torbjörn had just said.

Brigitte repeated her father's complaints. "Reinhardt, it's ok. He's not like the others."

Reinhardt, realizing he wasn't getting shot at, began to release the two from his arms once more.

"What do you mean? Why is he on the ground?" Reinhardt asked.

"Let us up, and we'll explain," replied Brigitte.

They all climbed to their feet, Bastion following them up. Reinhardt was turned, half-facing Torbjörn and Brigitte, half-facing the bastion unit, his posture no longer relaxed

"I know this will sound strange, but this one…" Torbjörn's voice trailed off, unable to find the words. "He's…"

" _He?_ " Reinhardt questioned the pronoun. " _It's_ a bastion Torbjörn. They cannot be trusted."

"This one is different," Brigitte explained. "Reinhardt, meet Bastion." She gestured to the Omnic, who gave him a friendly wave in response.

That caught Reinhardt off-guard. He looked back at her as if she just said the sky was green. "Different how?"

"Honestly, we don't really know," Brigitte replied. "I found him on my way home from Eichenwalde. He was...lost?" she added, unsure of the truth.

"Lost?" Reinhardt repeated, as if she was using the wrong word.

Brigitte looked away a bit shamefully, but added, "He's...just different Reinhardt. He doesn't want to kill anything. I don't think the omnics have control over him anymore. He even has a little bird friend."

Reinhardt looked surprised and took another look at Bastion. Bastion waved at him, childlike. "But...how?" he asked.

"How did Mondatta become who he was?" countered Brigitte.

" _Was?_ " questioned Reinhardt.

The question visibly hurt Brigitte. She realized that Reinhardt hadn't heard about the assassination. "He's dead Reinhardt. Assassination. They think it was Talon."

"Ahhh," Reinhardt nodded in understand. "That makes more sense now. Talon is stirring up trouble again. Those cowards always work in such nefarious ways."

"Assassination is pretty public though," Brigitte added. "I wonder what is causing them to be so bold now."

"It will make no difference. It's time we wipe them out once and for all. Are you with me old friends?" Reinhardt rallied.

Brigitte and Torbjörn looked at each other significantly. Before they could answer, the video projection from inside the workshop beeped again. This time, the Overwatch logo appeared on the wall. Then Winston's face was looking into an empty shop.

Torbjörn, Reinhardt and Brigitte walked inside, leaving Bastion outside for now. "Winston!" exclaimed Reinhardt.

"Reinhardt! Torbjörn! And Brigitte!" Winston hollered, leaning back in his chair, revealing the rest of his lab. Behind him, Tracer blinked into view, testing out her repaired chronal accelerator, only to blink away a second later.

"Was that Tracer behind you? Is Lena with you?" asked Brigitte.

Winston turned around, remembering he wasn't alone in his lab anymore.

"Oh, yes, she's here too," he replied. A squeak of "Hiya!" came from Lena off screen. Winston continued, "it's good to see you all, but we have very little time. We just got an alert that there's a threat upon the museum where the Doomfist gauntlet is guarded. Lena and I are heading over there right now. You're the only ones that had responded to my message so far. How quickly could you get there?"

Torbjörn and Brigitte looked at each other, realizing there was only one response to the request for help at this point. Torbjörn answered, "Not very quickly, but we'll leave soon."

Brigitte stepped closer to the screen, saying, "Are we really the only ones that responded to your message?"

"So far," Winston replied hopefully. "I'm sure people are just...nervous. We're breaking the law, you know?"

"We're being heroes!" proclaimed Reinhardt.

Winston just smiled. "We need to get going," he added, looking toward Lena again. "See you all soon. Signing off," and with that, the screen closed, and the Overwatch logo appeared once more.

* * *

Author's note: I've done my best to work within the framework of the established stories of this universe. The Overwatch shorts were a big inspiration for me, and I consider them all 100% canon in my work of fiction. At this point in the story, the very first Overwatch cinematic trailer that was released, seen here (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url):  watch?v=FqnKB22pOC0, takes place. I find it redundant for me to write the events that happened in this short, so go watch the short to see what happens after this chapter.

Also, I implied that Reinhardt's short, entitled "Honor and Glory", seen here (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=sQfk5HykiEk&list=PLAYFVhxsaqDuOh4Ic5mRu5CiZVKCMVv66, occured a few days ago. Essentially the timeline goes like this:

1\. The Last Bastion (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=to8yh83jlXg

2\. Alive (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=U130wnpi-C0&list=PLAYFVhxsaqDuOh4Ic5mRu5CiZVKCMVv66&index=7

3\. Recall (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=sB5zlHMsM7k&list=PLAYFVhxsaqDuOh4Ic5mRu5CiZVKCMVv66&index=8

4\. The first part of this chapter

5\. Honor and Glory (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=sQfk5HykiEk&list=PLAYFVhxsaqDuOh4Ic5mRu5CiZVKCMVv66

6\. The second part of this chapter

7\. Cinematic Trailer (They remove urls, just add this text to the end of youtube's url): watch?v=FqnKB22pOC0

8\. The third part of this chapter (which happens right now, see below)

This is not a complete timeline, as there are obviously more chapters to be written and more short to be included. I will try to make it obvious where the official Overwatch shorts fit into my timeline, but I will also include timelines like this to help keep things straight.

* * *

The older brother returned the affections of his little brother as they stood in the Hall of Heroes. The adrenaline still pumping through him, he didn't even care about pretending to be cool. They had just seen _Tracer_ and _Winston_. Two of the original Overwatch heroes. Nothing could top that.

The older brother's heart was beating through his chest. All he could hear was the blood of his veins rushing through his ears. But after a moment, another sound entered the hall. Footsteps approached the gauntlet. Broken glass cracked underneath the steps.

A one-armed, bald, black man stood at the gauntlet. His muscles burst through the street clothes that restricted him. His left hand tightened into a fist, then reached up to take the gauntlet.

Without a word, he attached the gauntlet to the end of his arm, where cybernetics already melded with his flesh. It locked in place with a satisfying clink. The metal fingers stretched and flexed at his will. They then tightened into another fist, and a sinister smile twisted on his face.

He looked over at the two boys, seeing their fear of him. He didn't hesitate. He swaggered over to them, stopping close enough to tower over them. He bent down to bring his eyes down to their level.

"What happened to your arm?" he casually asked the younger boy, motioning towards his green cast. Not sure how to respond, the older brother spoke up for him, "He broke it playing football."

"That's good," replied the powerful man, in a husky Nigerian accent. "It's good that you played so hard that you lost something. And it's good that you're recovering. That's how we get stronger."

The boys tried to react, but couldn't. They stood their shocked. The adrenaline was starting to make them shake. "You do not need to be afraid. Do you know who I am?" asked the man squatting before them.

They both shook their heads with negation.

"My name is Akande, and I am here to save the world," Akande said with a smirk. "Now, stand back," he commanded, motioning them away from him. They took several steps back, as far as they could go before he leapt up from his squatting position, jumping all the way to the roof of the hall. His metal fist punched through the glass, making pieces shatter down around him and to the floor below. That same fist grabbed the frame of the glass he just broke and effortlessly pulled himself through the new hole. With one more leap, he disappeared from their view.


	2. CH2 New Friends

Author's Note: I'm normally going to be publishing on Sundays, but I'm excited to see what you guys think, so I'll just post this a bit early. Please feel free to leave critical reviews. I'm doing this to get better. Also if you find a typo or something please PM me.

Also, I hired an artist for some custom artwork! So you have that to look forward to.

* * *

Reaper and Widowmaker sat wordlessly at the conference table. Widowmaker was elegantly posed in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, motionless. Reaper was aggressively sprawled in his chair, frustrated with the last mission. He tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically. Widowmaker darted an annoyed glance to his tapping fingers, followed by an eye roll that left a scowl on her face. Reaper ignored her.

"You should have killed that monkey when you had the chance," Widowmaker spat out in her crisp French accent, breaking the silence.

Without missing a beat, Reaper mocked back, " _Always hit my mark._ Tell that to the British dolt that keeps screwing up your missions."

Widowmaker waved her hand effortlessly, as if shooing a fly away. "She was not my mark. Mondatta is dead, is he not? But you're great big shotguns couldn't hit King Kong." Her words ignited a fire in Reaper. He slammed down his fists and growled, "She took your gun! You lost your weapon!"

"You lose your weapons all the time," Widowmaker casually sniped back.

"Y-," Reaper started, but is cut off by the doors opening. Moira and Doomfist strut into the room. Doomfist casually flexed the fingers of his newly acquired gauntlet, observing them admiringly.

"I could have just had the engineers make you another one, you know," Moira offered. "You didn't need to go through all this trouble."

"Where's the fun in that?" Doomfist grinned back. "Besides, I wanted the world to know I am coming. They need to start preparing." Doomfist stopped walking and realized, seemingly for the first time; Reaper and Widowmaker were already in the room. He noticed their hostility toward each other. Now was the time to stoke the fire.

He wagged a disappointed finger on his gauntlet at them, making a _tisk_ noise with his tongue as he sat in his chair at the head of the table. "You two have really gotten sloppy since I've been away," he chided.

Reaper raged back, "If I had a partner that wasn't so concerned with how she dances around and was more concerned with the mission-" but was cut off Widowmaker.

"If you had just killed that monkey, I could have focused my shot. I only have one gun after all, " she accused.

Doomfist quietly chuckled to himself, simmering in the flames of their anger. Sternly he dictated, "Do not blame others for your weaknesses. Do you think I blamed anyone but myself when I sat in prison all those years?" His voice gained a sharp edge to the final words.

"Besides," he continued in a more relaxed tone, "do not look at this mission as a failure." He paused to let them know he controlled the conversation now. "We recovered my gauntlet, and we even managed to attract the attention of some former Overwatch members." Doomfist gave Reaper a significant look.

"Now, onto business," Doomfist concluded.

Moira picked up where Doomfist left off, "We have two new members to welcome. One is on a mission in Rio De Janeiro. The other is used to working alone and...," her eyes shifted around the room, her words aimed at the empty space in the room, "...I hope she is already in here waiting for us."

The hum of Sombra's decloaking alerted everyone to her location just as she faded from invisibility, appearing to them at the end of the table. "Hey," she intoned, her arms casually crossed.

Realizing this newcomer was watching their whole conversation, Reaper slunked back into his chair. Widowmaker crossed her arms disdainfully. "Seems like a real party in here," Sombra taunted.

"Meet Sombra," Moira introduced, "the best hacker in the world. She'll be helping you both get in on during next mission. Do you have the files we requested?" she prompted, gesturing to the folder in Sombra's hands.

In answer, Sombra pulled a folder from a bag by her side. She carelessly tossed the folder onto the table, allowing some of the documents to slide out. Some pictures of the facility and their next target were revealed. "Katya Volskaya has been making an army of anti-omnic robots," Sombra informed. "It sounds like Talon doesn't like that and want her to be...dealt with."

"Excellent work," replied Moira, picking up the folder.

"Very impressive," Doomfist rumbled, "But before you take care of her, I would like to see your skills for myself. You and I have a date in Numbani." Sombra raised a questioning eyebrow to him. Doomfist lifted his handless in a shrug, "I need to practice my moves, and you need to get paid."

"I like the sound of that," Sombra added mischievously.

Doomfist smirked at her, "Bring whatever gear you need. I will meet you in the hanger. I need to dress for the occasion," he concluded. Sombra nodded in agreement, and teleported out of the room. Doomfist stood, and stalked out of the room without another word.

Widowmaker got up immediately after the doors closed behind Doomfist, and began strolling out of the room when Reaper interjected, "Where are _you_ going?"

Without stopping, she hissed back, "Wherever I want. Je me casse!" just as the doors closed behind her.

Reaper sprung up to leave the room, his midnight-black cloak aggressively billowing fog. "Reyes," protested Moira. Reaper stopped. His cloak became corporeal and his feet appear from beneath the black fog.

"Are-...Are you doing ok?" she formed the words reluctantly, as if she they were forbidden.

Reaper looked down in shame and exhaustion. "I don't even know anymore," he relinquished. She waited patiently for a follow-up, but none came.

"I know she's a lot to work with, but-," Moira offered.

"It's not even her," he confessed. "She's a pain in the ass, but she's right….I didn't follow through."

Moira looked away from him. She pulled out a chair from the table, asking, "It's Overwatch, isn't it?" She sat down quickly.

Reaper turned to see her sitting and reluctantly joined her.

Neither was sure what to say, so they just sat together. They both thought back to their time spent with Overwatch. Some memories more fondly than others.

"We all do what we have to do Gabriel," Moira asserted. "They were just slowing us down. Holding us back."

"Maybe…" Gabriel demurred.

Moira recoiled a bit, but pushed forward. "Do you know of the scientist Van Helmont?" she asked not pausing for a response. "He was a Flemish scientist famous for his work with gas chemistry. He even invented the word 'gas'. He was arrested by the church, and do you know what for?" she tilted her head questioning Gabriel. He briefly shook his head 'no'. "For studying plants," she delivered with gravitas.

Gabriel nodded in understand.

Moira continued, "the rules of men are fickle, temporal. Sometimes we must push the limits of what is acceptable to bring about real change in the world. Change for the good. Overwatch stopped changing a long time ago."

Reaper huffed a surprised chuckle at that. He then turned his entire body into smoke and left the room through a crack in the door. Moira didn't turn to watch him go.


	3. CH3 Intruder

Author's Note: You may have noticed that I got the new artwork in recently! I hope you guys liked it. I think the artist I worked with photoshoped this very well.

* * *

In Rio de Janeiro, the Vishkar R&D building had walls that glowed pristinely white. The tall ceilings and corners were lined with neon blue and gold trim. The gentle electronic hum of the lights were the only sound that filled the hallways. Then, a klaxon inundated the space.

Lucio rounded a corner, riding the walls in his hard-light skates, only half paying attention to his path. His attention was mostly focused upon the recently stolen technology in his hands, a sonic amplifier. "Huh, I wonder what this does," he question as he flipped the only switch visible on the handle of the sonic amplifier.

"Woah!" he exclaimed as he nearly fell off the wall from his unexpected increase in speed. He grinned in finding his balance. "I could get used to this."

Shouts of protests came from the hallways behind him. But he wasn't hearing that noise.

He flipped the switch back and forth experimentally, slowing down and speeding up with each flip. A circular icon caught his eye above the handle of the sonic amplifier. But it wasn't just an icon, he noticed. It was a charging meter, of some kind. But charging what?

"Can't wait to see what you d-" he started, but was cut off by the hard-light wall that he ran into. _That wasn't there before_ , he thought as he crashed to the floor. The hard-light wall faded from existence. From around the next hallway, an Indian woman wearing a white and blue Vishkar uniform strut into view. She wore an eye-piece over her right eye, and held a photon projector in her hand.

She tapped a button on a display on her arm and the alarm klaxon stopped. "You have stolen Vishkar property," proclaimed Symmetra, confidently. "Drop the technology and we will be lenient in your prosecution," she finished, crossing her arms with a mild scowl of annoyance.

Lucio groaned as he found his footing. "It was never yours to begin with," Lucio countered.

"Ridiculous," reprimanded Symmetra, "but I can see you won't be persuaded by reason." As she finished her words, she drew her photon projector and aimed at a wall near Lucio. A spherical object formed at the end of the weapon. Upon its creation, the hard-light turret rapidly floated in the direction she had aimed it.

Reacting instinctively, Lucio aimed the sonic amplifier at the incoming projectile, and pulled the trigger. A _womp_ of sound emitted from the amplifier, creating a distorting wave in the air. The wave of sound disrupted the hard-light structure, and the turret phased out of existence. The look of surprise on Lucio's face was matched by the look on Symmetra's.

The Vishkar security team interrupted their shared surprise. Lucio reacted to them before Symmetra. He put his feet underneath him and skated directly at them, as if he were going to barrel through. But at the last moment before colliding with them, he jumped on the wall again. His hard-light skates held him to the wall as he skated over them.

The guards reacted quickly, firing their guns at him even as he rode along the wall. Lucio flipped the switch on the sonic amplifier, giving him a speed boost, and making the shots from their weapons miss him entirely. He rounded the corner, wallriding down the hallway he had just come from.

Symmetra was watching this unfold when the alarm began to blare again. Malfunctions? During a security breach? This was unacceptable.

She tapped furiously on the device on her arm, opening video footage of the intruder. Her face shifted from frustrated to confused as she watch two different intruders on two different video feeds; Lucio wallriding away, and an unknown archer with Vishkar guards prone at his feet.

"There's...there's a second intruder," Symmetra uttered, mostly to herself. The guards that fired at Lucio jogged over to Symmetra.

"Ma'am, who should we focus upon?" asked one of the female guards.

Symmetra looked up at her, and then to her fellow guards, unsure of what to say. "Protocol doesn't plan for this," Symmetra stuttered. The guards eyes grew a bit wide at that. They turned to each other in looks of perplexment and worry.

The klaxon filled the waiting silence.

Realizing no answer was going to come from the flustered, autistic genius, the female guard that spoke earlier, turned to her other guards, and instructed, "The second intruder is clearly more dangerous. He is the higher priority." She half turned back to Symmetra, and in an appealing tone, "Is that alright with you ma'am?"

Symmetra looked up from her concentration, not making eye contact with her subordinate. She gave a quick nod in approval.

The female guard nodded in confirmation, checked her wrist display for the location of the second intruder, and directed her guards where to go.

Symmetra, left alone in the hallway, finally snapped out of her rumination. The two video feeds remained on her wrist display. She minimized the archer's video feed and enlarged the video feed of the first intruder: Lucio. She pulled up a hologram map of the building with Lucio represented by a glowing red dot progressing through the building. Symmetra ran down a few hallways until she found the security interview room. She entered it and entered the Administration code into a keypad to lock the door behind her.

Turning back to the hologram map hovering above her wrist display she oriented herself with the red dot's movement. Shifting her body slowly, she tracked the movement of the red dot. The dot weaved down one hallway after another, seemingly unsure of its desired path.

 _Wait. Patience._

 _Closer….closer…_

 _There!_

With a wave of her hands Symmetra brought up another another hard-light wall that cut through nearly the entire building. Again, Lucio collided with the wall, unprepared for its formation. Immediately, Symmetra made another wave of hand motions and conjured two teleporters. Both teleporters, tied together through Vishkar technology, were angled at the same orientation; parallel to the floor. One was placed on a wall in the room with Symmetra. The other on the hard-light wall at the red dot's location.

Lucio fell to the ground, but before he landed, he flew through one of the placed teleporters, and out the other, into the room with Symmetra. He landed with a satisfying thump. Symmetra, then ran towards Lucio's prone body. She jumped up into the portal she had created, disappearing from the room with Lucio and reappearing in the hallway he had just been in.

She then closed the teleporter behind her, and the wall faded out of existence. "Perfect alignment," she extolled to herself. She even allowed herself to smile.

Symmetra looked back to her wrist display. She retrieved the video feed of the second intruder, only to find even more bodies with arrows sprouting from their chests and limbs. Fortunately, all of them rolled around, showing signs of life. Resolve replaced the look of horror on Symmetra's face. She ran off to confront the archer.

Lucio groaned at the floor again. "Not again," he uttered to himself as he rolled to his hands and knees. Finally rising to his skates, he observed the room around him. No windows. One door, that was probably locked. He checked it in futility. A resigned sigh followed.

"Gotta get out here," he whispered to the room, panning around it again.

FInding nothing of help, he slunked against the wall in defeat. He took the moment to observe the prototype in his hands. Pride warmed him as he was reminded that his father had designed this. He removed his gloves to explore the curves of the sonic amplifier with his hands. On the bottom of the handle, he felt a small bump that felt at odds with the rest of the design. He turned the amplifier over to find a standard 3.5 mm headphone jack. Confused wonderment flickered across his face. Then, realization, as he understood the purpose of jack; input.

"Of course you put this is," Lucio chuckled, as he reached into his backpack to find an audio cable. He plugged into the sonic amplifier as he stood up. He reached back into his backpack to reveal a small sound mixing board he normally used for public DJing sessions on the streets of Rio.

From his backpack, Lucio grabbed a pair of noise cancelling headphones, emblazoned with his logo on the sides, and slipped them over his ears. He turned the noise cancellation feature on.

He placed the speaker end of the amplifier against the keypad on the wall, which was locking the door to his escape.

At the press of a button, a high frequency emitted from the sonic amplifier, vibrating the entire room with a quiet buzz he felt through his hand. The frequency swept lower and lower, causing buzzing to get louder and louder. The vibrations were so violent, sonic amplifier could barely be held against the keypad anymore. Lucio's hand began to tingle. But as the frequency dipped too low, the vibrations in the keypad began to lessen.

"There you are," he said to the keypad, adjusting his mixer again. The frequency rose back up, but only to a few notes higher than before. The keypad was at maximum vibration now; its natural harmonic. Lucio then raised the volume of the prototype to as high as it would go. The vibrations became immense. Lucio's entire body was shaking trying to control the sonic amplifier. After a few seconds, the keypad flickered off a few times before conceding in a puff of smoke. The door unlocked at the death of the keypad.

Lucio sprinted out the door. He barely remembered to turn the amplifier off as he leapt to the walls on his skates and speed boosted down the halls.

Sick of running around this rat maze of a building, Lucio found the nearest window to the outside.

He found some windows that overlooked Rio below. He stopped skating and stood in front of the window. He raised his sonic amplifier to the window ready to break it, but stopped just short. He looked down at the streets below as a look of concern washed over his face. "I can't hurt anyone down there," he chided himself. His face became curious, looking at the glass as if it knew something he didn't.

He tapped on the glass, and realized by the sound that it wasn't real glass. It was hard-light. He smiled at this realization.

Once again, Lucio placed his sonic amplifier on the glass. This time, he amped up the volume, shattering the hard-light window almost instantly. The hard-light glass evaporated into harmlessness.

Lucio climbed onto the edge of the window. He looked down the 50 meter drop to unaware city life below. He removed his headphones. The streets sounds couldn't compete with the sound of the wind. His skates rocked back and forth on the edge of the window ledge.

"This is gonna need some tunes," Lucio said to himself as he placed his headphones back on. He pressed "play" on his headphones and jumped onto the outside of the windows. His hard-light skates held him up as the wind carried him along the building's side.

As he just started getting comfortable with skating again, a hard-light window shattered in front of his path. The pieces of glass faded from existence instantly. Lucio jumped over the new gap in the windows, just barely clearing it without catching an edge.

He turned around, skating backwards now, in order to see what caused the broken glass.

The archer from before leapt out of the window, drawing his bow aimed upward. An arrow with a cable attached to it was loosed. It connected with something and the cable went taught, the other end connected to some kind of motorized winch attached to the archer's waist.

Before Lucio could decide what to think about that, a Talon drop ship appeared at the top of the building, hovering just above where the archer had planted his arrow. The archer then began to ascend the outside of the building rapidly, the cable keeping itself taught.

Nearly at the top of the building already, the archer turned to Lucio riding the wall away from him. Lucio gave a friendly wave to the archer. The archer, a Japanese man with dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, gave a look of confusion back to Lucio.

Before he could decide if he cared about Lucio, a bridge of blue light appeared, connecting the two buildings, originating from the window the archer had broken. Symmetra traversed onto the hard-light bridge, looking down for the archer who had previously jumped out of the window. The archer spotted her first.

The archer drew another arrow aimed downward, at Symmetra. Lucio watched in helpless horror.

Before the archer loosed his arrow, a flash of insight hit Lucio. The meter on the sonic amplifier. He glanced down at it, realizing what it was.

Lucio slammed the sonic amplifier into the wall beneath his feet. At the same moment, he pressed the button at the center of the meter, releasing a shockwave that rippled the glass on all of the windows, shattering them.

Waves of green rippled through the air, originating from Lucio. The wave rapidly washed over Symmetra and the archer. The archer loosed his arrow. The arrow hit Symmetra in the back, but didn't pierce her body. Instead, the green air that now surrounded Symmetra deflected the arrow, and it tumbled to the ground uselessly. Symmetra recoiled to the impact, instinctively touching her back to where the arrow would have left a wound, surprised to not find one.

"Woah," Lucio said to himself, admiring the sonic amplifier one more time.

The archer gave a puzzled look at Symmetra as he reached the top of his ascension. His bow received a confused look as well. He took note of the waiting drop ship. The archer disconnected a latch from his belt and leapt to the drop ship, effortlessly clearing the gap. He disappeared into the drop ship doors and the drop ship flew away, robotically traversing a path between skyscrapers.

Lucio watched the drop ship fly off, but returned his attention to Symmetra on the bridge. She was watching the drop ship disappear around another building when Lucio caught her eye.

Symmetra shouted at Lucio just as he was reaching the building's edge, "Return Vishkar's property!"

Lucio shouted back in response, "I told you, it was never yours to begin with." He rounded the corner of the building, disappearing from sight.


	4. CH4 Go Down Gambling

Doomfist leapt from the Talon drop ship, landing in the desert outside of Numbani. His fist shook the earth as he punched cracks into the sandstone, softening his landing. He rose from his landing and dusted off his shoulder. On the ground beside him appeared a small purple translocator. A second later, Sombra teleported to the ground from the drop ship Doomfist just left behind.

"Sweet landing spot," Sombra joked, putting a hand on her hip.

Doomfist grinned widely. "I always like to make an entrance," he challenged.

Sombra gave a sidelong glance, musing, "Yeah, I'm kinda the opposite." Doomfist gave her a cajoling look. "Most of the time," she smirked back.

He returned the smirk, then motioned her to follow him into the city.

Numbani thrummed with mechanical and biological life. Androids, automated cars, augmented humans and Numbani natives cascaded through the streets. Everyone seemed to know where they needed to go. Nobody meandered or strayed from their paths. Glitz and glamour dominated the looks of most of the people. You almost didn't notice the occasional homeless person hiding in an alley. Wealth was always in view and just out of reach when one walked the streets.

The crowds rippled around Doomfist and Sombra's presence. Doomfist was bursting through a snowy white blazer with black, pin-striped pants. A blood red rose on his chest pocket gained almost as much attention has the 200 pound gauntlet he swaggered around. Sombra upstaged him without even trying. She wore a purple and aqua sequin dress with long white gloves that reached her elbows. Her undercut hairstyle was garnered with gold and red adornments. She sauntered in aubergine high heels, shifting her hips effortlessly.

"I imagine you don't care about being recognized?" Sombra asked.

"On the contrary. I hope I do," Doomfist replied smugly. "But you on the other hand…" he gave her a knowing look.

She returned the look as she activated her cloaking device and disappeared from sight. The crowd gasped at her disappearing act. Some people thought it was performance art and began cautiously clapping.

The Belisa Casino sprawled across a dozen city blocks. Modern architecture mixed with golden hard-light structures gave presence to the casino from streets away. A small army of Omnic servants floated around the entrance, dutifully helping prestigious guests enter and exit luxurious their floating limousines and sports cars. A team of Omnic musicians played 1940's big band music that fought with the cadence of the crowds gambling small fortunes away. Drunk businessmen, classy women, obese millionaires, Omnic companions carelessly partied, unaware of the world around them.

Until Doomfist stepped through the door.

It happened slowly at first. The armed security droids that initially blended into the background of the partying became more visible to the partiers. They began encircling Doomfist at a distance as he made his way through the entrance, waving off an Omnic butler offering him a drink.

People started reacting to the armed security before they realized who had entered the casino. Then realization struck many gamblers into shouts of _it's Doomfist_ and _he's escaped from prison_. Many of the patrons didn't even know who they were running from, but simply started following the crowds of people fleeing. They only caught glimpses of the one person not running out of the room, and realized _he_ was whom they were running from.

Before long, the only sounds in the casino were the slot machine jingles and the Omnic musicians, still playing their big band music. And only the Omnic servants and the robotic armed guards remained on the casino floor.

Doomfist strode up to a semi-circular blackjack table and took a seat. He hefted his massive gauntlet onto the table that thumped heavy enough to topple a few piles of chips that were left behind.

"Deal me in," Doomfist commanded.

"I don't believe I can do that," mechanically replied the Omnic dealer.

Doomfist smirked at the reply, then his face grew stern as he grabbed the table with his gauntlet. Without much effort, he ripped the table from the ground, sending it and playing cards and casino chips tumbling through the air. The guards raised their weapons at Doomfist, but he was already leaping into the air. Their weapons and eyelines followed him up into high ceilings of the casino as they began to fire. But they couldn't match his speed.

Doomfist threw the weight of his gauntlet towards the earth. It collided like a meteor, shattering the floor into spiderwebbed cracks. A shock-wave of power erupted around him sending dozens of the armed guards tumbling away in sparks.

* * *

Sombra appeared outside of a locked room deep inside of the casino's basement. She raised her left hand and hacked through the digital locking system, freeing the door from its closed state. She cloaked herself again, phasing out of visibility once more. The door swung open from the inside, revealing two armed robotic guards and several human casino personnel.

The guards look surprised, as much as any robot can. They walked out of the room, stun rifles drawn, searching for the source of the opened opened the door.

Behind them, the disembodied voice of Sombra chirped, "Boop." They turned around to the noise just in time to watch Sombra appear inside the room they were guarding, and closing the door behind them on them. From inside, Sombra hacked the door's terminal again, this time forcing it to remain closed, ignoring employee access. The guards outside banged on the door in futility.

Sombra then turned with a grin towards the human workers that remained inside. She drew her machine pistol and motioned for the employees towards a wall. They raised their hands in fear, many of them trembling, and followed her wordless order.

Sombra then approached the computer terminal, reached out with her hacking hand, and began emptying accounts. "Don't get in my way, and we won't have any problems. It's not your money anyway," Sombra appealed.

"Do you know who you are stealing from?" a female voice with a Nigerian accent asked. Sombra didn't take note of which person from the crowd was speaking.

"Don't care," Sombra replied flippantly. The computer terminal screen showed multiple account numbers listed next to massive credit amounts. The numbers began to be replaced with zeroes as she transferred the money to various accounts around the world.

"You should," that same voice replied. Sombra rolled her eyes in response.

She turned to look at the woman. She wore an unassuming yet modern steel-colored dress. "I escape the Los Muertos gang. I think I can handle one little billionaire," Sombra countered. "Well, _former_ billionaire," she added matter-of-factly.

"You know this place is insured," she chided. "She won't lose much," countered the woman, who had relaxed enough to stop leaning against the wall. "She'll just be insulted. And she _will_ find you," she added.

"She can try," Sombra refuted.

"Oh I see. You think your little disappearing act will keep you hidden forever," the woman chastise, waving her hand dismissively over Sombra.

Sombra remained silent. She pondered the woman's words as the computers continued to beep quietly.

"She could help you," the woman finally said. Sombra took notice of her again. "You could give up your employer, and she'd reward you greatly."

"There are some things money can't buy," countered Sombra.

"Look where I work. I know that's not true," the woman confuted. Wistfully, she continued, "It can even buy you happiness, for a short time."

"I'm not after happiness," Sombra retorted.

"Then what are you after?" the woman replied.

"Information, " Sombra relinquished as she turned to face the woman. She gave one last look to the crowd of people cowering by the wall. With her hacking hand she gave a playful wave and mocked, "See ya," as she teleported out of the room.

She finished teleporting into the casino main floor where Doomfist was putting on a spectacle.

A guard's body flew through the air at her. She ducked just in time for the guard to collide with the wall behind her, collapsing into metal heap. She turned back to Doomfist's show.

A guard was falling through the air as he lined up another punch with his gauntlet. He loosed his fist into defensive guard, flinging his body into the falling guard's just before it hit the ground. More scrap metal joined the poker chips on the floor.

Doomfist turned to the remaining guard running towards a dropped weapon, and lined up another punch. Just before he charged fist-first into the unprepared guard, a green orb about the size of a basketball floated into view. It halted in midair, just in front of the guard. A green tendril reached out from the orb and grabbed hold of the guard. Just as Doomfist released his punch, the guard was yanked forward into the green orb, and avoided the punch all together.

Doomfist skid by the final guard uselessly. Surprised, he looked for the source of the green orb.

Orisa, a modified OR15 defense robot, charged into the gambling hall, galloping on her four legs. "Cease your violence," her feminine robotic voice commanded Doomfist, as her gun-arm took aim.

Doomfist grinned at the new arrival as he shot the final guard behind him with his fist-mounted shotgun. "Try and make me," he challenged her. Orisa didn't hesitate. Her gun-arm unleashed a flurry of projectiles at Doomfist. He raised his gauntlet as a shield, blocking himself from damage.

Sombra didn't wait for Orisa to notice her. "We need backup," she radioed through her earpiece, as if no further explanation was needed.

Doomfist uppercut into the air and dove behind a pillar, taking cover from Orisa. His gauntlet sent silver lightning through the ground it slammed down, carrying his momentum.

Orisa kept firing at the pillar, keeping Doomfist pinned down. She walked deeper into the casino, trying to get around the pillar.

The ground shook with a monstrous quake. Behind her, a Talon Heavy rose from it's devastating landing. It towered above Orisa, even at a distance. Its dense exoskeleton supported two gatling guns that hung from each arm. The red glow of its eyes locked onto Orisa. Without a word, it began to fire.

Orisa stopped firing at Doomfist to turned to the Heavy. She shot a shield on the ground between her and the Heavy. Bullets disintegrated uselessly into the cyan shield, making aggressive _womp_ sounds with each hit. She began returning fire, but her bullets had no effect on the exoskeleton of the Heavy, sparking against his steel plating.

Doomfist took advantage of her distracted state and projected himself back into the air. At the peak of his jump, he threw his gauntlet at the ground behind Orisa. But just before his gauntlet hit, Orisa flickered into a solid gold color. The slam from Doomfist's gauntlet had no effect on her.

Doomfist didn't slow. He quickly wound up into another charged punch. He released the punch at full force, but again, the golden Orisa didn't budge. His gauntlet slammed into her golden armor, but only sent tremors back into his chest.

Orisa reared her hind legs upwards and kicked Doomfist away, sending him crashing into tables and stools. Orisa's skin flickered back from golden to her original green, tan, and yellow armor colors. The Heavy kept firing the barrage of bullets. She threw down a second shield where the first one had begun to crack, and turned to the sprawled Doomfist behind her.

"You should not have returned to Numbani, Doomfist," she warned. She took aim at Doomfist once again, but something caught her attention.

The _womps_ from the bullets hitting the shield had stopped. The sound was replaced by the sounds of rockets. The Heavy had begun to charge at Orisa, its rear-mounted rockets propelling him through the street.

Orisa turned back to the charging Heavy, taking a defensive stance as if she would stop the Heavy in his tracks.

The heavy barreled through abandoned cars, tearing asphalt up in a wake behind him. Just before he came close enough to see Orisa's determined yellow eyes, purple lines appeared in the air, reaching out for Orisa. Sombra had begun to hack Orisa, just as she hacked the computers and the keypads.

Orisa realized her resulting malfunctions right before the Heavy made impact. The equestrian defender couldn't hold her ground against the oncoming train. She became pinned to the dipped shoulder of the Heavy, like a bug on a windshield.

The wall shook from the force of the Heavy, crushing Orisa. When the Heavy stepped back, he reveal her broken body, crumpled on the floor. Her chest looked like a crushed tin can. Sparks tried to escape her body. At least two limbs lay separate on the ground beside her. Lights in her eyes flickered as she tried to recover.

The Heavy took aim at her head from only a few feet away. He revved up his gatling guns.

"Stop," commanded Doomfist. The Heavy took note of Doomfist approaching and lowered his gatling gun arms, relaxing his stance. The gun whirring wound down.

Doomfist approach the ruined Orisa. He squatted down as if he was talking to a child, and questioned, "Who made you?"

"I- I am the defender of- of- of Numbani," Orisa choked out in defiance.

"And I destroyed a bunch of you last time I visited Numbani," Doomfist retorted. "But somebody took one of those broken bots and made you. So I'll ask again: who made you?"

A new voice, still female, but distinctly younger, arose from Orisa, "Doomfist you are a scourge on this planet."

Doomfist nodded his head in approval. "I assume you are the one who made the improvements to this OR15?"

"My name is Efi, and we will defeat you," challenged the young girl's voice.

"Defiant even in defeat. I like that," Doomfist smirked into Orisa's failing eyes.

Behind those eyes were cameras. And the feed of those cameras connected to a lab just outside of Numbani proper. Efi watched helplessly on the monitors observing the carnage at the casino. Tears filled her eyes.

"Orisa, don't worry. I can repair you, just hold on," Efi plead with Orisa. Then she pressed a button and spoke directly into a mic, commanding, "Leave Numbani now, Doomfist."

Doomfist let out a hearty chuckle. He patted his hand as if telling a puppy to stay down, bantering, "I will, I will. But not because you tell me." He pointed his finger in jest at Orisa's eyes.

"And not before I take what is rightfully mine," Doomfist concluded while reaching underneath Orisa's body. With a single strained lift, Doomfist picked the horse-sized robot off the ground, and over his shoulder.

Efi cried into her mic, "What are you doing?!"

His face twisted with effort as he declared, "To the victor go the spoils."

"Efi- Efi-" Orisa begged.

"Put her down! She does not belong to you," wailed Efi, futilely.

Efi's protests continued without break, giving Doomfist an annoyed expression on his face. He motioned for Sombra to do something about the voice.

Sombra reached with her hacking hand again and disabled the remaining electronics still functioning in Orisa. The remaining lights on Orisa died.

Efi slammed her fists on the table in frustration. Her eyes were drowning in tears now. She began typing furiously on her computer terminal. The terminal now read "searching…", blinking calmly as Efi held her breath.

 _searching…._

 _searching…._

 _searching…._

 _no signal found_

Efi released her head to the table, wrapping it in her arms. She didn't even try to hold back her sobs anymore.

Doomfist, Sombra, and the Heavy walked out of the casino, stepping over the dozens of destroyed guards littered on the floor. Doomfist carried a satisfied smile. Sombra looked mildly confused at the collapsed centaurian robot on Doomfist's shoulder. He didn't notice her confusion.

Police and Numbani military had finally arrived. They surrounded the casino in droves. They tensely aimed at the returned terrorist, Doomfist. Doomfist took note of them, marveling in the response to his presence.

"Too bad we can't stay," he mused as their Talon drop ship flew back into view. He turned to the Heavy and commanded, "Fight well, soldier."

The Heavy looked at Doomfist and nodded once. He revved his gatling guns up to speed again, and stepped forward, blocking Doomfist and Sombra from view of the military. He began firing at the armored vehicles and cop cars, sending sparks flying everywhere.

Doomfist squatted down mindfully, and with one jump, leapt up to the hanging platform of the drop ship, causing the entire vehicle to dip dramatically. Sombra's translocator followed him up. And just as the translocator reached its peak, Sombra teleported to the drop ship, landing on her feet elegantly. The Talon drop ship immediately began flying away from the firefight below.

Doomfist set Orisa's body down as the drop ship doors closed. He rolled his shoulder around a few times as he sat down. "Did you have enough time to transfer all of the funds?" questioned Doomfist.

"Every last penny," replied Sombra.

"And how much did you keep for yourself?" accused Doomfist.

Sombra looked stunned for a moment, then took note of the closed doors on either side of her.

"Relax," Doomfist comforted. "I don't care about the exact amount. As long as most of it is where it needs to be, I'm fine with you taking a little extra, this one time," he added, giving Sombra a significant glance.

Sombra looked relieved, but then confusion drifted back onto her expression.

"I know who I hired. But I wanted you to know a little more about me," Doomfist clarified.

Sombra looked away from Doomfist briefly, as if calculating percentages. "You fight whenever given the chance," she began listing. Doomfist leaned in. "You like making a spectacle," she continued. He nodded in agreement. "You don't care about money, apparently," she teased.

Doomfist let out a uproarious laugh. "No, no I do not," he concurred as he settled his laugh. "Only enough to accomplish what I must do," he added.

"So," Sombra began, "what must you do?" she coaxed.

Doomfist leaned back, relaxing against the seat. "I must bring the world to its knees, so it can stand on its own two feet again," he proclaimed.

Sombra stood unresponsive for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that," she questioned finally.

"You will be by the time we're through," mused Doomfist.


	5. CH5 A Rough First Day

Jesse McCree settled into his seat at the cafe. Giza felt almost comfortable. He liked the heat and dry air. He lounged in a way to prevent his six-shooter didn't rub against the metal of his armor. His red cloak hid the weapon, including his shooting hand.

"I fella could get used to this," Jesse dralled as his piping hot coffee arrived at their table.

Fareeha Amari sat across from him, wearing casual clothes of natural colors. Anything to help her blend in. She rose her cup to her lips but stopped, "You shouldn't," she chided gently. "We're supposed to be keeping alert for suspicious activity." She continued with her drink.

"Who says I'm not alert?" Jesse contended playfully. His American cowboy accent weighed on his voice like the swing of willows in the summer heat.

The dirty streets of Giza we packed with market goers, hucksters, and homeless. But tension threaded through the crowd. Protests had broken out nearly every day this month, and they've only grown more aggressive. Another was soon to break out today. Many protesters laid in tents and on blankets, not even bothering to go home between protests. Jesse couldn't tell the difference between them and the homeless.

"You posture says it," Fareeha insinuated.

"Man, you really are your mother's daughter," answered McCree.

Behind her cup, Fareeha smiled faintly at that. "Are you going to start telling me stories about her again?"

"Only if you get enough whiskey in me," McCree mused, "I think I told you all the ones she'd want me to tell you. Even beyond the grave, that woman scares me." Their chuckled overflowed their table.

As they settled, McCree asked, "So, is this what this job entails every day? Drinking coffee and watching people?"

"Sometimes," Fareeha said knowingly. "Helix has just loaned us out to the city as an extra set of eyes. Normally, work is even more boring than this," she smiled in return.

"Yeah, well sometimes boring is healthy," McCree conceded.

"Is that why you took the job, Jesse?" questioned Fareeha.

McCree glanced at her, but only responded by taking a drink.

McCree's sipping stopped short a bit as something caught his eye. In the crowd, at break in the flow of people. It looked like a stone was walking against the currents of a river. But he couldn't see the stone.

Fareeha noticed Jesse's attention shift and began searching the crowd as well.

"What is it, Jesse?" she asked.

"Maybe nothing," McCree promised as he rose from his chair.

"Jesse, don't make a scene," Fareeha ordered in a loud whisper. McCree halted his momentum.

"What's the plan then?" McCree grunted under his breath, not taking his eye from the unnatural flow of people.

"Follow unnoticed. Observe only," Fareeha instructed as she rose from her chair, throwing some money on the table.

They stalked into the crowd, spreading out from each other to cover more distance. McCree caught sight of person that caught his attention initially. They had a small figure, and looked feminine, even under her cloaks. She didn't just walk against the crowd, McCree noted, but ignorant of it. As if they didn't really notice there were crowds.

Fareeha had spotted her too, but noted her path more than anything.

"She's heading straight for a military base," Fareeha reported into her ear piece. McCree was startled by her voice in his ear, but then remembered what it was like having an earpiece.

"We should stop her," McCree demanded.

"Not yet. There may be others and you'll just scare them away," Fareeha countered as she ducked into an alley, pressing buttons rapidly on her wrist device. "Keep on her, I'm gearing up."

McCree grunted in reply, but decided to start closing the gap between him and his target. He could see the military barricades now.

A large flying drone arrived in the alley with Fareeha. It's massive propellers propelled dust and trash around the alley, forcing Fareeha to shield her eyes. The package it was carrying, about the size of a small wardrobe, dropped onto the ground, deploying mechanical feet to hold itself upright.

Fareeha placed her hand on the smooth chrome of the package. Lights scanned her handprint behind the chrome plating. _Fareeha "Pharah" Amari_ appeared in the chrome as the package cracked open, unleashing Pharah's armor.

"She's holding a bottle. I think it's a Molotov," informed McCree, agitated.

Pharah put her wrist rocket on, realizing she didn't have time to get the rest of her armor. "I'm on my way," she replied as she locked the rest of her armor.

The mystery woman pulled the bottle into cloak. When it came back out, the cloth stuffed into the neck of the bottle was aflame. McCree forced his way to the crowd to get to her. The woman reached back her right arm, ready to through the Molotov. McCree lunged at her wrist, grabbing her and stopping her throw.

Her head spun around in surprise. The Talon assassin's red-plated face stared emptily at McCree. McCree froze in surprise for just long enough to have lost a pistol duel. Realization quickly washed over his face as his eyes glanced back at the flaming cloth hanging from the Molotov.

McCree grabbed the cloth with his robotic arm, nearly as fast as his draw. The assassin's blade rapidly extended from its unrestricted arm. It swung up into McCree, making an uppercut motion. But McCree let go of its wrist and jumped back to avoid the slice, pulling the flaming cloth out of the bottle. Flames dripped out onto the ground in a trail between the bottle and the cloth.

The crowd distanced themselves from the violence, unsure of what has happening. The fastest draw in the west freed McCree's Peacekeeper from its holster. "Stay right there," commanded McCree. The reveal of the six-shooter sparked fear in the crowd, and they began dispersing in chaos.

The assassin observed the change in the crowd, but didn't take note of McCree's drawn Peacekeeper. It threw the unlit bottle haphazardly at the military barricades, retracted its blade, and ran away. McCree sprinted after it.

"It's getting away, heading west. Can you head it off?" McCree panted into his earpiece.

Pharah, already running at the assassin, fired her wrist rocket downward at the ground behind her. She sprung forward as the concussion rocket propelled her, pushing everything and everyone away from its origin. Using her newfound momentum, Pharah intercepted the escaping assassin, tackling it to the ground.

Pharah landed on top of the assassin, pressing its face into the ground. The assassin extended its blade behind itself at Pharah. Pharah flung herself away from the jutting blade, rolling to the side of the assassin. The assassin wasted no time climbing to its feet to run again.

Just as the assassin finished standing, a small flash exploded in front of the crimson faceplate of the assassin, stunning it momentarily. McCree had caught up.

He fired a few of shots from his Peacekeeper, cracking the faceplate of the assassin and stunning it further. He rolled on the ground, toward the assassin, reloading his revolver with his quick reload. He sprung up from his roll only a few feet from the still dazed assassin. He pushed the gun into the chest of the assassin. McCree's robotic arm pulled the hammer back in rapid succession at each pull of the trigger. Each eviscerating bullet caused metal shards and sparks exploded from the Talon assassin, littering the ground.

The assassin stood for a moment, and then the red glow of its eyes died, allowing the assassin to collapse to the ground.

The screams and shouts of the crowd slowly rose from around McCree and Pharah.

"So much for keeping a low profile," McCree joked as he helped Pharah to her feet. As they watched the crowds become increasingly chaotic, they realized that the chaos was spreading too quickly to only be about them.

"I don't think this is all for just us," cautioned Pharah as she pointed out smoke around the walls of the military compound.

"Since when does Talon use Molotov cocktails?" mused McCree.

"Pharah," a commanding voice addressed in both of their earpieces, "we're getting reports of attacks around your location. What's going on there?"

"Talon organized an attack on the military compound," replied Pharah.

"They're up to something," added McCree. Pharah shot him a look.

"Be that as it may," continued the voice, "we've been hired for a job. Try to quell the protesters and prevent an all-out riot. Maybe it's not too late to save some people."

"Sir, I don't believe Talon cares about the protests. I think they're just a distraction," argued McCree. Pharah's face grew concerned.

"You've been given your orders. Get to work," the voice concluded definitively, followed by a click indicating the connection had ended.

Pharah approached Jesse, "I know you knew Talon, but we don't know it's them, and we have work to do."

"Talon is the only ones that uses those things," McCree fired back, angrily shaking off Pharah's hand. "And if they're causing a distraction here, then they're up to something somewhere else."

Pharah looked around at the crowd that had devolved into a mob. "We don't have time to deal with that. We've got people to save here and now."

Another Talon Assassin appeared on a rooftop behind Pharah, catching McCree's eye.

"Sorry Pharah," Jesse offered as he started back-pedalling, "but I guess this job just ain't a good fit for me." He turned and ran after the rooftop assassin.


	6. CH6 Not Alone

Hey guys, I'm sorry about this taking an extra week. I have an editor now, and he's working through the past chapters. I will probably be releasing new chapters every two weeks for the time being, until he catches up. It will also give me a chance to give myself some buffer by writing out more chapters ahead of time. Anyway, please let me know what you think! And let me know if you catch any mistakes.

* * *

Pharah shouted at McCree as he chased the rooftop assassin, but it was useless. Chants from the mob overwhelmed her voice, and it didn't seem like McCree wanted to listen. Orders. She had orders.

Pharah tapped on her earpiece, "Team, we have a situation at the military base." Pharah directed. She began typing on her wrist device as she continued, "I need all available units to mobilize immediately."

A map appeared on her wrist device, showing a the locations of team members, scattered distantly from the base. "Damn, we're spread too thin," she said to herself being careful not to open up comms. There's no need to tell _them_ that.

"I'm marking locations of several fires on your maps," she said, placing waypoints on her best estimates of the locations of the attacks. "Head there immediately with any firefighting equipment you have."

"What firefighting equipment?" a voice questioned back. Pharah couldn't even tell who it was by their voice. Damn newbies.

"Just," Pharah started, frustrated. "Order it from your drone. It's under _specialized equipment_ ," she commanded as she began darting through the crowd.

Pharah arrived back at her equipment locker, tucked away in the alley she had left it. She rushed to place her handprint on the locker. Within 90 seconds, her gear was on. _Still holds the record in fastest gear-up_ she thought to herself. She activated her jetpack and launched effortlessly to the rooftop.

Hopping from rooftop to rooftop, she took note of three things: all but two of the fires have already been put out, the instigators were nowhere to be seen, and Helix was not prepared for this.

Either the fires caused enough panic to start rioting, or the protesters used the chaos as an opportunity to start them. At this point, it didn't matter. Contain and suppress. Damage needed to be minimized and casualties avoided.

Fires first.

The two growing smoke clouds made it easy for Pharah to plan her path. Unfortunately, it was also easy to see that no other members of her team had geared up yet. Nobody else was in the sky. Amateurs.

Flying through the hot summer air felt like flying around the sun. And the armor didn't make things cooler. As she approached fires, smoke thickened aggressively around her. Pharah lowered her helmet to allow herself to keep breathing. Her rocket launcher, normally equipped with rockets, was currently equipped with extinguishing foam, fed through a tube connected to a foam pack mounted on her hip. She aimed at the base of the fire and began spraying white, extinguishing foam. The foam expanded as it covered the flames, smothering them. Military personnel joined Pharah with hand-held fire extinguishers that emptied quickly.

While the roars of the fires died, the jeers of the protesters rose.

Soldiers stood armed in rows of body armor, all holding hard-light battle shields, which formed a wall of glowing crimson. Protesters poked and prodded the red wall of light, and the wall jostled them back, tauntingly.

Pharah fired her wrist-mounted concussive rocket between the protesters and the shield wall.

The concussion sent protesters sprawled on the ground, while the shield wall remained unphased. Protesters gawked up at Pharah, stunned, as she angelically descended between them and the shield wall.

"Disperse immediately," Pharah boomed in Arabic, through an amplifier in her helmet. The protesters ignored her words as they began closing their distance from the shield wall.

Pharah lowered her rocket launcher at the crowd and sprayed them with the extinguishing foam. The crowd became confused and disorganized. People covered their eyes and mouths. Many fell over to the ground again, waiting for the spraying to stop.

 _Errrnn errrnnn errrnnn_ the canister of foam beeped as the last of the foam emptied onto the crowd. But the foam had been enough to quiet the crowd enough to try giving commands again.

"Please disperse immediately. There is no need for violence," Pharah pled through her helmet. This time the crowd was too dismayed to ignore her entirely. Some of the protesters were clearly taking note of her words.

Pharah removed her helmet. Face to face, she made eye contact with as many people as possible. Each person she made eye contact with soon hovered around her.

"The attacks that started these protests were made to entice you into conflict. Do not fall for the trap and get hurt for them." Pharah imparted. "I'm not saying don't protest. I'm saying _don't riot_ ," Pharah concluded.

The crowd appeared mollified some, despite the jeers and shouts from behind where they could not see or hear Pharah.

Pharah relaxed, realizing she could salvage this disaster, with or without McCree. She could stop the riot.

She believed this right up until three of the protesters charged at her, all at once. They were covered in clothes hiding their limbs and faces, but the red glow of their eyes gave them away. Talon Assassins, again.

They flung themselves at Pharah, but her jetpack erupted into the air, several stories above the crowd. The assassins didn't stumble. Instead, two of them continued past where Pharah was standing and into the crimson shield wall. The third one, however, changed trajectory in a flicker. It propelling itself directly up into the air and latched on to Pharah's legs with both of its arms.

The two assassins, still cloaked to look like protesters, fervently assaulted the shield wall. The military unapologetically fired tear gas canisters in response to the assault. Grey gas enveloped the protesters. Coughs and cries replaced the hostile jeers as people began panicking.

The two assassins, now under the cover of smoke, revealed their hard-light blades that lined their forearms. The bashing turned to slicing and the military shields quickly began cracking to the superhuman blows.

Up in the air, Pharah tried kicking her attacker off, but couldn't find leverage. The assassin ripped off a piece of Pharah's leg armor, revealing an entry point for its blade. Pharah's eyes grew wide as the assassin drew its blade towards the gap in armor. Pharah shoved her rocket launcher over the exposed leg, blocking the incoming attack. The blade drew a crack in the side of the rocket launcher, and became firmly wedged.

Pharah twisted her rocket launcher, the assassin's blade still impaling it. The assassin's arm jerked with her pull. The assassin grabbed with its other arm in an attempt to free the blade. Only it's robotic legs, wrapped around Pharah's legs, were preventing it from freefall.

Pharah freed one leg, bending her knee high enough to plant her foot on the hip of the assassin. Her frustration turned into confidence as she heel-kicked the assassin repeatedly, each kick weakening the assassin's grip.

Pharah could feel the assassin slipping, and with one final kick, freed herself from the assassin's legs. But the blade was still stuck in her rocket launcher, allowing the assassin to dangle like a dying leaf from the hose connecting the rocket launcher to the foam pack on Pharah's hip.

The hose jerked taught. The pull brought the assassin closer to Pharah, and Pharah closer to it. The assassin's free arm revealed its other blade as it swung at Pharah's head.

Pharah deflected the robot's arm as it targeted her, redirecting the momentum of the blade towards the hose. Like cutting string. Pharah released the assassin's arm as it fell to the ground again, this time untethered to Pharah.

The assassin didn't keep falling though. With inhumane speed, it sliced the rocket launcher off with its freed blade. Then, with one final burst, it propelled itself into a streak of red that reached upwards for Pharah. At the last second, the streak became clear again and the assassin's blades were drawn, hunting for Pharah's head.

Weaponless, Pharah's arms rose to block her head, readying herself for impact.

A hissing sound, like a bird darting through the air, came right at them. When the sound stopped, the assassin went limp. Its upwards momentum carried it within inches of Pharah's face. Pharah watched its glowing red eye dim as the assassin's parabolic motion brought it tumbling back to the Earth.

The assassin crashed to the earth, bouncing with an ugly, clanging thud. Its limb body was uninterested in the collision. After a beat, the assassin awoke. It immediately raised its head to Pharah's location high in the sky. Pharah watched it, tensely, expecting another fight. But it just ran into the crowd. Pharah couldn't keep track of its movements without her helmet.

 _What saved me,_ Pharah asked herself. Pharah began searching the direction from which the hissing sound originated. Dozens of rooftops baked in the sun, emitting heat waves that distorted the air around them.

A moving body finally caught her eye. A small figure was running away from her. The only detail Pharah could see was the long-barrelled gun the figure was carrying.

The figure disappeared off the rooftops. Pharah tried to take note of which street or which buildings the mystery figure was near, but knew it was futile. By the time she got there, they would be long gone.

"Ok Chief Amari, we're on our way," a voice from her wrist device woke her from her reverie. "Where are we meeting you again?"

Pharah sighed at the question, and returned her gaze to the skyline, towards he mystery savior.


	7. CH7 Thought I Saw A Ghost

Hey guys, I'm sorry this has come out so late. There's been a lot of reasons. I got into a car accident, the elections have drawn a lot of my attention, and we bought a new bunny (his name is Kingsley Shacklebolt and he's cuter than you can imagine). It's been a busy month.

On top of that, I couldn't upload the document! FanFiction was having login problems for days.

Anyway, I had fun writing this chapter. Things are starting to heat up, and I loved writing the comedy for Zen. I hope some of the physical humor is understandable in text. Let me know what you think in the reviews! Please be critical and constructive. I'm doing this to get better at writing (and for fun).

Edit: Re-readers, I've made some changes to this chapter. Nothing too significant. It happens in the fight. I thought of a new behavior Moira could express during the fight and incorporated that into a slightly revised fight scene. Let me know if you like the change.

* * *

McCree heard Pharah shouting something, but the details were lost to the noise of the crowd. Didn't matter. His mind was made up. Little she could have said to change that.

McCree's holstered Peacemaker cut into his gut as he sprinted through the crowds. _This is why I hate running_ , he thought to himself.

The assassin leapt to another rooftop.

 _I need to get ahead of this thing._

McCree spotted a moped a couple of blocks ahead. He shook his head in frustration over what he was about to do.

He drew his Peacekeeper and halfheartedly aimed it at the person parking their moped, being careful to keep his finger off the trigger. "Get off, now!" McCree ordered the civilian. The young man raised his hands in fear. McCree avoided eye-contact.

"Helix Security," McCree informed, "they'll get this back to you. HELIX. SECURITY," he enunciated as clearly and loudly as he could, unsure if his victim knew English. He holstered the Peacekeeper again, and sped off in the stolen, powder-blue moped.

McCree looked up at the assassin who had gained several _more_ blocks by this time. The view from the street made it easier to see the assassin, but now he had to be concerned with traffic. He's no good to anyone if he dies under some tires.

McCree looked into the middle distance, halfway between the assassin on the rooftop and the street. He relaxed his eyes and tried to track both targets at once; the assassin and the traffic.

Another car entered the street from beyond his peripheral vision, where he couldn't see it coming. He swerved as soon as he realized the car had cut him off, and narrowly avoided a collision. But when he looked back up to rooftops, the assassin was gone.

"Damn," McCree swore to himself. He pulled over to the sidewalk to get a better look around. But he already knew it was of little use.

"They are trying to steal the God program," a robotic voice calmly informed McCree. McCree turned to find an Omnic robot sitting cross-legged on the ground, wearing monk's clothes.

McCree gave the Omnic a discerning look. "Huh? Did you see where they went?" McCree asked, his voice a bit panicked as his eyes searched the area.

"The Iris sees all," the mysterious Omnic monk preached, mantra-like. McCree gave him a sidelong glance, followed by a raised eyebrow.

"O-kay then," McCree sounded out.

"I would like to assist you with stopping them," the monk continued, dreamlike in his cadence. Without fanfare, the monk then floated up from where he sat until he hovered about two feet above the ground. McCree's eyes widened.

"H- how are you doing that?" McCree questioned as he motioned at the floating monk with his hand.

"One day, I dreamt I was a butterfly," the monk replied airily, not even hinting at any further clarifications.

McCree just stared at him blankly. The monk stared back, equally blankly.

McCree gently shook himself from his reverie and took note of the monk. The monk wore goldenrod-colored pants that were baggy. Red cloth was wrapped around his waist, like a belt, one end hanging between his legs, like a loin cloth. On the monk's forehead, nine blue dots almost glowed, in a three-by-three layout. A necklace of massive metal balls hung around the monk's neck. McCree quickly counted; nine balls. _Probably to match the forehead dots_ , McCree thought.

"With every passing moment, your goal escapes you," the monk interrupted McCree's staring.

"Right," McCree said, as if the word were a bridge and he was testing its ability to hold weight.

The monk began to float towards McCree, who was still sitting on his stolen moped. He stopped above the seat cushion, behind McCree, but remained floating. "I will give you guidance," the monk explained.

"Uhhh...are you situated?" McCree asked, looking at the monk's legs, folded and floating above the seat.

"Always," answered the monk. McCree shrugged and began driving, following the monk's directions.

McCree quickly realized where they were heading; the Giza Plateau. Where the infamous God program supposedly resided. McCree had been told about its alleged importance for humanity, though he didn't see how that could be. McCree also knew it had caused a small uprising a few years back that killed a bunch of people. Whatever it was, McCree decided that Talon shouldn't be in control of it.

"Forgive me," the monk interrupted McCree's ponderings, "I did not give you my name, nor receive yours."

"Didn't know Omnics were so polite," McCree replied, blithely.

"What you know and what you don't know are unbalanced," the monk observed. "Allow me to help bring that balance. I am unknown as Zenyatta."

" _Unknown_? The expression is 'I am known'," insisted McCree.

"But I am _not_ known, as you've clearly pointed out," countered Zenyatta.

McCree raised a finger to object, but decided better of it. Instead, he grunted out, "McCree." They drove the rest of the way in silence.

You could hear the alarms from outside of the Temple of Anubis. Not much worry about it being a _secret_ facility anymore. _Good_ , thought McCree, _because I didn't really feel like getting chewed out for bringing the monk along_. _Besides, the monk already seemed like he knew where this place was._

Carnage of Omnic research and defense robots decorated the street outside the temple. As McCree approached the metal carnage, he slowed the moped to a stop. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the bodies. No heads. Every single body was headless.

"This doesn't look good," McCree said quietly, mostly to himself.

McCree stepped off the moped, not thinking to put up the kickstand. The moped toppled underneath Zenyatta, but he remained floating as if nothing had changed.

McCree looked back to the noise of the toppled moped. While he was turned, a single red laser appeared on the back of his head. McCree turned back to see the laser mechanically locked onto the position of his forehead.

Before McCree could react, Zenyatta floated into action. In a second, he was beside McCree, reaching out towards the laser, as if to block it. But his hand wasn't in front of the laser. Instead, the baseball-sized balls that hung around his neck rapidly floated into a line that formed along the laser, starting at Zenyatta's hand, ending a few inches from McCree's face.

I single shot shattered the air. The bullet collided with the line of balls as Zenyatta's arms made smooth catching motions. Each ball collided with the ball next in line, taking a piece of the momentum from the bullet, until there was only enough force left to give McCree a bloody nose. The last ball collided with McCree's face, stunning the cowboy.

Zenyatta was too busy to notice his bloodied companion. The catching motion he had made earlier became a wind-up as he threw the balls back at the sniper. Each ball connected with head of the sniper, making a satisfying _clink_. McCree couldn't see the sniper's body to begin with, but the lack of red laser made it clear that the monk had taken it out for good.

Zenyatta then pulled his arms back to his sides, followed by a clap of his hands. All nine balls flew back gently until they rested are Zenyatta's neck again.

"Ow!" McCree exclaimed as he wiped away the blood.

"Oh, are you ok?" Zenyatta asked, politely.

Before McCree could answer, half a dozen red lasers appeared on the street.

"Come on," McCree grunted through the pain as ran into an alley, out of sight of the snipers. Zenyatta floated behind him.

McCree crouched tensely in the alley, watching the street, as Zenyatta took position behind him. "And keep it down," he half-whispered at Zenyatta while waving a hand in a downward motion. Zenyatta gave him a curious look, then observed his floating legs. Zenyatta then lowered himself, and floated closer to the ground.

"Looks like you were right. They're here. I count six snipers at least," McCree continued. "No way for me to get a clear shot without another taking me out."

McCree studied the sniper lasers as they mechanically searched the ground, reacting to each flutter of clothing caused by the wind.

 _Wait_ , McCree thought, _weren't there six snipers?_

Before he could recount a third time, all of the sniper lasers tracked up, over the rooftops. _Someone was up there with them_.

Gunshots and sniper bolts rang out.

"We've got more company. I don't know who, but the snipers are distracted. Time to go, monk," McCree huffed as he ran towards the open doors of the temple. But before he could step through the threshold, a ghost appeared before him.

Moira casually lead a half dozen armed Talon soldiers. The sight of McCree in front of the Temple broke her stride.

"I didn't expect to see _you_ here, McCree," Moira drawled. The soldiers by her side raised their weapons.

Six quick shots rang out from McCree's Peacekeeper. A soldier fell over dead to each shot.

Moira's face went from stunned to mildly vexed.

McCree gave a wry smile. "Yet somehow, I knew it would be you, Moira," McCree explained as his wrist jerked to empty the casings from his gun. "Let's catch up."

Moira frowned, saying, "I don't have time for this." Almost in response, three Talon assassins, with their arm blades already drawn, appeared from the shadows of the temple.

Moira twisted her arms across her chest, as if throwing a cloud. A silk-smooth orb of purple and black magma appeared in the air, escaping from her arms. She then vanished in a cloud of purple and black smoke. The assassins didn't give McCree a chance to find her. They blurred from pillars to walls to the floor, in attempts to scare and distract their targets. The glow of their Omnic eyes were the only way to follow their movements, but only barely. McCree started backing away from the encroaching purple orb, while reloading the Peacekeeper.

As the purple orb approaching McCree and Zenyatta, it reached for them with a smoky tendril that felt cold to the touch. McCree knew better than to try to touch the intangible tendril. _The only way to survive that is to get away from it_.

Zenyatta immediately floated away from the orb, being sure not to get too close to it. He watched as the light in McCree slowly faded from the world. As if his existence slowly drained. He gently tossed a ball that hung around his neck towards McCree. The thrown ball latched onto McCree, like a balloon floating around his center. An aura of golden light connected the floating orb to McCree's body.

McCree began to feel the familiar coldness of the orb fade away. His gun clicked. Security. He was ready for a fight now. He'd killed that other one. _How hard can they be to hit?_

Zenyatta then made the same motion, but this time the motion had a a different momentum, and a different target. One of the assassins. The ball hung just as it did on McCree, but the aura was in opposition to the other's. Purple and black aura connected the ball to the assassin.

The assassin didn't pay it any mind. When the assassin tried to make another jump, it slipped. One of its feet skidded off the pillar and allowed the assassin to fall to the floor. It landed on its hands and feet with lightning reflexes, recovering from its fall. It looked at the foot that slipped, and even with its expressionless face, McCree could tell it was confused.

The other assassins gave the fallen assassin a confused look as well.

Zenyatta stepped forward, as if to explain. "Your path is in discord with the Iris, sisters," he accused. He threw another two orbs, one on each of the remaining assassins. The purple glow of the orbs marked each of them like dots on a map.

"Allow me to show you a better path," Zenyatta concluded.

McCree gave the monk a sidelong glance, trying to figure out what angle the monk was playing at. Intimidation? Confusion?

The assassins didn't show any consideration for his words. They charged.

One assassin appeared in McCree's face without warning. McCree instinctively threw a flash bang from his pocket, stunning the assassin momentarily. He fired two shots at its head, but they ricocheted off its titanium plating.

At the same time, the other two assassins had already surrounded Zenyatta. The assassins loosed a flurry of slices, but the monk dodged them readily and elegantly. Each slice, however, forced Zenyatta to retreat just a little.

The assassin attacking McCree forced him to back up too. In a few steps, McCree and Zenyatta were back to back. The assassin's leveled three slices at both of them. Zenyatta grabbed McCree by the back of his shirt and pulled him down so his torso was horizontal with the ground. Zenyatta leaned back into a mirrored position, allowing for both of them to doge the most recent slashes.

McCree, unexpecting of the monk's grab, fell onto his back from his lack of balance. Zenyatta thrust his hands and legs outward, each making contact with their attackers.

Hitting the ground didn't distract McCree much. From his back he emptied the Peacekeeper at the assassin that had attacked him. But instead of going for headshots, he focused each shot onto a single shoulder. Each bullet damaged the arm further until it hung limply and useless by the assassin's side.

One of the assassins Zenyatta had kicked began leaping from pillar to pillar in a blur. The other assassin continued slicing at Zenyatta, forcing him to back up further. The wounded assassin stepped behind Zenyatta, raising its working arm to Zenyatta's neck. The jumping assassin appeared in front of Zenyatta with two more arm-blades criss-crossed against his neck.

The third assassin had stopped slicing at Zenyatta and had started slicing at McCree. McCree began rolling like a log to avoid getting cut. The assassin then thrust its two arm-blades into the ground on either side of McCree's head, preventing him from escaping any further.

The assassins stopped their movements. The air became quiet enough to hear the smoke of Moira appearing again.

McCree looked up at her. "Moira, why are you working with them? You don't have to do this."

Moira looked into McCree's eyes. She frowned for just a second before looking away. "You didn't have to try to stop me," she replied.

"You know that isn't true," McCree countered.

Moira sighed quietly. "I know," she acknowledged. "Which is why I'm just taking you prisoner. I don't want to hurt you, Jesse," Moira explained.

McCree's eyes narrowed at her. But before he could come up with a clever response, gunshots shattered the quiet. The assassin that kept McCree pinned was suddenly getting peppered by bullets from the rooftops. The assassin raised its blades from the ground to block the incoming shots.

A hissing sound chased another one of the assassins. When the sound died, the assassin fell over, unconscious. Zenyatta didn't hesitate. He grabbed the arm of the third assassin, standing behind him, and directed its blade into its own chest as he leaned out of the way.

He then pulled his hands in tightly as the balls around his neck began to swirl in a blue glow. He released his hands and the balls followed directly into the unconscious assassin's head, until there wasn't a head anymore.

The assassin protecting itself from income bullets tried to jump to a wall. But when it got there a group of spiraling rockets was already en route to its landing spot. The rockets exploded the assassin's legs, causing it to hang to the wall by its arms. More bullets came from the roof at its unprotected body. Soon, only scrap metal remained.

McCree followed the path of the bullets to their savior's location. An old man in a mask stood at the edge of the roof, firing bullets into the assassins. And next to him another masked figure crouched, in a hood, holding a sniper rifle. This figure, however, McCree recognized as Shrike; the masked vigilante he'd heard about.

McCree then rolled to search for Moira, but during the fighting, she had disappeared without a trace.

"Damn," McCree swore to himself. He looked back up to the rooftop to see if he could further identify his saviors. But they had disappeared too.

He looked around for Zenyatta. He found him floating away down the street. McCree stood up and shouted, "Hey monk, where are you going?"

Zenyatta gave a friendly wave back to McCree. "Wherever the Iris is taking me," Zenyatta replied.

McCree stood a bit dumbfounded among the wreckage of the fight. "Everyone just left me with the bill, I guess," he said entirely for his own amusement.


	8. Message To Readers

Hey guys, no chapter this week. I've been busy with my real job and being sick. I just didn't want you to be left in waiting. New chapter next Sunday. 


	9. CH8 Revelations

"You stole a civilian moped!?" shouted Commander Kattan at McCree. Pharah and McCree stood at attention, prepared for the tongue-lashing. McCree tried hard not to smirk.

"It seemed like the thing to do, at the time," McCree offered half-heartedly. He found it hard to fight for a job he knew he'd already lost. He'd just felt bad for making Pharah look bad in front of her boss, knowing how much this job meant to her.

"You disobeyed direct orders on your first day," the commander continued as if McCree had said nothing. McCree glanced at Pharah to his left. A twang of guilt pulled at him.

"I couldn't let Talon get away," McCree attempted to explain.

"That's not your job!" Kattan exploded. McCree turned away in resignation. He knew when a fight was over.

Kattan turned his attention at Pharah. Pharah stood straighter. "McCree, you're fired, obviously," Kattan said, not looking away from Pharah.

McCree lowered his head in acceptance, stole another glance at Pharah, and left the room, closing the door behind him. A pregnant silence remained. Pharah broke it first. "I'm not sure why _I'm_ here, sir."

Without a beat, Kattan replied, "You're here because you convinced me to hire that cowboy." Pharah winced. "And he chose a hell of a day to go rogue,"

"But his hunch was right," Pharah appealed. "Talon was just distracting us-"

"And fat good he did by abandoning you," Kattan cut off. "He wasn't calling the shots. I was. I can't have a team that doesn't listen."

Pharah tried to remain stoic, but he eyes rolled anyway. And Katan noticed it.

"What?" he challenged. "Do you have something to say?"

Pharah took a breathe. Her mother would have told her to bite her tongue, take her lashings, and get out. But flashes of her fight with the assassin replayed in her head. She got lucky. That was the only reason she was still alive. Not her team. Not her commander. Not even her training. Someone was watching out for her. Someone incapacitated that last assassin.

It made her a little sick to her stomach. She locked eyes with her commander, and the sickness turned to fiery anger. "Actually, _sir_ ," she fumed, "I think it's a bit ironic you'd say that, considering it's _your team_ that failed to back me up."

Kattan's eyes widened as if Pharah had just slapped him. "Careful Pharah." he growled. "You're dangerously close to insubordination."

"Better than being close to death."

All in now.

"Those scrubs barely were able to get their gear on," she accused, breaking her stance and gesturing out of the office.

Kattan sighed to himself, "I will deal with _them_ later. But _your_ job is to follow orders."

"And those orders almost got me killed. We shouldn't have been outsourced to that job, anyway. And nearly half of this crew isn't qualified to guard a gate, let alone the covert ops we were assigned. I wanted McCree on my team because he knows how to handle himself. I needed someone that could back me up."

"And how did that work out for you?" Kattan asked sardonically, nodding towards the door McCree had just closed.

"I'd still rather have a cowboy than your so called _team_ ," Pharah argued. "We were spread too thin, just to make an extra buck, with a crew that couldn't find their own elbows with a map. And while we were wasting our time with the crowds, we failed our primary mission. The AI is gone. Today's failures are on you, not me,"

Kattan's body language flared up at that. "Suspended," he said definitively.

Pharah recoiled at the words.

"Indefinitely," Kattan answered the question before Pharah could ask.

But she quickly accepted the words. Without adding anything else, she turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Heading towards the lockers, she rounded the corner into a patiently waiting McCree. His back against the wall and his eyes covered by his lowered hat, he murmured, "I'm sorry."

Pharah stopped. She composed herself, a bit. "I got myself suspended. Not you," she replied.

"That's not what I'm sorry for," McCree intoned. "I left you."

Pharah looked away. "Yeah, well…" she replied half-heartedly.

"If anything had happened to you, your mother would have killed me," reckoned McCree.

Pharah chuckled, her eyes slightly watery.

"I know she was good, but I don't think she can hurt you from beyond the grave," Pharah mused.

"Actually," McCree began to refuted wearily, "I'm not so sure about that."

The weight of today's events stifled attack. McCree's fleeing. The suspension. Somehow, McCree's implication didn't even sound like a sentence to her.

"What are you talking about?" Pharah asked, exhaustedly.

McCree sighed as he pushed himself off the wall to face Pharah. "I didn't tell the whole truth in there," he admitted. "I didn't kill the assassins on my own. At least two people were there. And I think I know who they were."

The words finally caught up to Pharah as he eyes widened just a bit. "What are you saying? What help?" she asked, almost pleadingly.

"The monk and I were done for," McCree recounted. "They had us dead to rights. Outnumbered and outgunned. But there were two people on the rooftops. They had taken out some snipers earlier. And the weapons the used. I recognized them." His voice grew quiet.

Pharah raised an eyebrow.

"A pulse rifle. Overwatch tech that Jack Morrison liked to use. And a sleep dart. It was your mother's favorite," McCree was almost whispering now.

Pharah's face morphed from confusion to disbelief to frustration as she tried to form words to rebut his claims.

"I didn't figure it out until later, when you told me what happened to you. That hissing sound that hit the assassin…." McCree added.

Pharah shook her head as pieces began to form. "Anyone could have stolen that tech by now," Pharah offered, unconvinced of her own words.

"I know. But they used it to save _you_ ," McCree countered as he stepped closer.

The thought visibly shook Pharah. Her vision was completely blurry now, and her feet began trying to catch her as she stumbled backward, toward the wall.

"I know it's a longshot," McCree continued, "but _both_ of their signature weapons. _Both_ defending against Talon. _Both_ protecting-"

"No-," Pharah whispered, to herself mostly.

"...you," McCree paused. Even as quiet as he spoke, the words felt like a truck hitting her chest.

"And they both died in that same attack. What if they didn't die?" McCree proposed.

Pharah slumped against the wall. She placed her back to it as she slid to the floor, unable to keep herself up anymore. Pharah knew he was right. Something about the timing of her fight. A shot only someone with a sniper's eye could make. Her mother. Was alive.

McCree sat down next to Pharah, sliding down the wall. He wouldn't or couldn't say anything else. He just sat with her, not sure of what to do next.

Pharah wept openly now. This day had broken her. The years of thinking her mother was dead circled around her head, making it spin.

Time passed. Pharah wasn't sure how much. But McCree was still there.

"What do we do next?" Pharah asked, her tears finally clearing.

McCree sighed to himself. "Talon is up to something. I don't know what you do next, but I'm finding the monkey. Hopefully he knows what to do."

"But what about my mother?" Pharah asked, pleadingly.

"I-," McCree cut himself off. "I don't know what to do about her. She and Jack faked their deaths for a reason. I'm sure you want to find them, but I wouldn't even know where to start. They've stayed hidden for this long. They clearly don't want to be found," McCree answered, reasoning himself through his thoughts.

"But they've exposed themselves now," Pharah realized, out loud. They looked at each other.

"Yeah..." McCree mused, "because of Talon."

"Which means," Pharah continued, "if we follow Talon, we might find them too."

McCree looked forward, tilting his head to concede the point. "Maybe."

"And you're going back to Overwatch?" Pharah asked, remembering the recent recall message from Winston.

McCree nodded his head once. "Never really left," McCree admitted.

Pharah stood up, leaving McCree on the floor. "Then I'm coming too," Pharah decided. McCree followed her up from the floor. "Ok then," McCree accepted. No point in arguing. He knew her too well. Her mind was made up.

"But we need to make a stop first," Pharah said conspiratorially, looking around the hallway. McCree followed her glances, also checking for unwanted bystanders.

"And we need to move fast," Pharah added. "Hopefully they haven't removed my access yet."

"Access to what?" asked McCree, but Pharah had already begun walking towards the armory.


	10. CH9 Try Me

Happy New Year! I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I was travelling for the holidays, and didn't really get a lot of down time for writing. But the extra time gave me a chance to plan out what happens in this chapter better. I'm pretty happy with the results. Let me know what you think in comments.

* * *

Talon headquarters is more boring than Sombra expected. With a name like _Talon_ , she expected a volcano lair with red and black themed furniture. She didn't expect an office building in Istanbul.

Doomfist reclined like a lion in the Serengeti, patiently watching the rest of the leaders of Talon at the end of the table. His plain clothes didn't hide his physique very well, but Sombra suspected that was the point. His clothes didn't even attempt to hide his gauntlet. Instead, the sleeve had been removed, via tailoring, to reveal his mechanical right arm, leaving the gauntlet resting on the table. The fingers, of which, tapped with a vague impatience.

Palpable tension restricted each senior member of Talon to their chairs. Sombra wasn't explicitly told of each identity, but that didn't prevent her from doing her own research. There weren't many pictures to accompany her research, but she felt confident in her ability to match names to faces, especially while she remained invisible in the corner.

Antonio Bartalotti was killed by Blackwatch eight years ago, but his son, Luca, had taken his place at the table. The well-built tall man around 30 years old sat motionless and cold. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing biotic implants on the sides of his head. _Wonder what else he can see?,_ Sombra thought quietly to herself.

Sanjay Korpal sat across from him; his back faced the floor-to-ceiling windows made of bullet-proof hard light. He looked younger than Sombra had expected, based on his exploits. Rebuilding the entire city of Rio De Janeiro is no small feat. He was trying too hard to look at ease as he tapped rapidly on his multiple electronic devices, hovering above the table.

Marco Vialli had sent a hit squad after Doomfist and Widowmaker months ago. Marco didn't survive, apparently. Details of his death had remained obscure. But his wife, Aurora, had stepped into his role, and she made sure everyone knew it. Aurora held herself well in her modern suit, with dark greys and accents of red. She sat adjacent to Sanjay, but with a chair between them.

Moira sat by Doomfist, and was apparently the only one willing to do so. Each other member was at least three seats down from him. Sombra couldn't figure if that was out of fear or disrespect. Maybe both. Clearly not everyone was excited to see Doomfist out of prison.

Except for, of course, Maximilien, who sat at the opposite end of the table. Despite his seating choice, Maximilien, the trillionaire Omnic, was one of Doomfist's only allies.

The Omnic sat motionless, as only robots can, in a black suit with a blood-red tie. Unfortunately, despite Sombra's tireless researching efforts, any information about the mysterious Omnic was limited to his wardrobe. And most of that she had just learned from this meeting. Sombra wasn't sure how a trillionaire somehow managed to be completely unknown to most of the world, but she was impressed. Disappearing acts _that_ good are hard to find.

Luca broke the silence. "Do we really have to keep waiting for her? Some of us have things to do," Luca protested in his Italian accent, as his head turned to Maximilien.

"We _all_ have things to do," countered Moira in a droll that made his frustration seem childish.

"Akande called this meeting for _everyone_ ," Maximilien lifted his hand towards Doomfist.

Aurora muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "And why does _he_ get to call meetings?"

"Because _I_ gave him permission to do so," Maximilien lightly chided, almost prepared for the remark. "And besides," he continued, "he has a proposal for us. And I think we should hear him out."

Doomfist hadn't shown any signs of acknowledgment thus far. But at this, he smirked ever so gently. Sombra didn't think anyone else besides possibly Maximilien had noticed.

"And I think Isoken would like to be here for it," Maximilien concluded. The soft bell ring of the elevator punctuated Maximilien's statement. "And there she is," he added.

A lean looking Numbani woman entered the room with grace and presence. And Sombra's blood ran cold.

Isoken was that same woman who had spoken with Sombra in the Numbani casino. Sombra had assumed she was just a bold finance worker, when they had encountered each other. But apparently, she was also a head of Talon.

From whom Sombra had blatantly stolen.

Isoken strode over to her seat next to Maximilien. She took his outstretched hand as if he were helpling her into her seat. She sat down and looked at each member at the table, making eye contact with each of them. Except Doomfist.

Maximilien either ignored the slight, or didn't care. He simply looked at Doomfist, knowingly. Doomfist understood his cue, rose from his chair, and began to pace around the room.

"For too long, we've cowered in the shadows," Doomfist began in his rich Numbani accent, "Why? So we can play our little power games with the governments of the world? So we can get fat and happy while the world wastes away?"

The room began to shift uncomfortably. Several glances were shot at Maximilien, as if to ask, _are you going to continue to allow this?_

Sanjay spoke up, jovially, "I'd hardly call what we do 'cowering'". Doomfist broke his pacing and looked at Sanjay, "Cowards rarely recognize they're cowards," Doomfist retorted. Sanjay swallowed quietly and turned back to his screens.

Luca was next to challenge Doomfist, "Why risk our necks unnecessarily? Lest we end up in _prison_ ," Doomfist's head jerked up at him.

Doomfist's scowl turned into light chuckling, "Prison has taught me a lot," He leaned over the table from behind where Sanjay sat. He used his gauntlet to point an accusing finger at Luca, adding, "Prison might do you a lot of good."

Luca didn't back down at the threat. His eyes locked with Doomfist's. Luckily, Maximilien spoke up, "Please continue, Akande."

Doomfist held his stare on Luca, but rose from the table and continued his pacing. "We do ourselves and the world a disservice by manipulating currencies and buying politicians, just to line our pockets. There is too much power in this room to do anything other than change the world."

Doomfist looked around the room, gauging them, and realized he wasn't making any progress. Even Sombra could see it. Doomfist paused again, as if recalculating his options.

"When I was defeated in Numbani, I faced waves upon waves of their worthless OR15 units. They crumbled beneath my fist without any trouble. But just a day ago, when I had returned, I found one that was... _different_ ," Doomfist paused to chuckle as he thought back to the casino. "This modified OR15 actually gave us some trouble-"

"Trouble doing what?" Isoken finally spoke up, ire plain in her voice. The room turned to her. "What were you doing in that Casino, Doomfist?" Isoken asked, feigning innocence.

Doomfist lifted his hands as if the answer was obvious. "Well, I was robbing you, of course." The room didn't seem surprised by the answer, so much as they were surprised by the matter-of-fact way he had stated it. _No more subtly_ , Sombra supposed.

Isoken looked wounded by the words, even though she had obviously known the answer. She seemed even further betrayed, as if she was hoping for a more clear explanation or justification. But there was none.

"If you truly owned that money, it would still be yours," Doomfist clarified as if this answer was explanation enough.

"That OR15," Doomfist continued, as if the side conversation hadn't even happened, "had been modified by a little girl," he said the last words almost accusatory, but not towards the little girl, but the room at large. "She is a genius. In only a few months, she took a worthless pile of trash and made it into something resembling a formidable opponent." Doomfist paused to let the words sink in. Then, silently to himself he says, "Only through conflict do we evolve," as if "And that was just _one_ little girl responding to my _one_ attack. Imagine what the rest of the world could create," he added.

"And what's your point?" Luca chimed back in, defiance plain in his tone. "What would you have us do?"

Doomfist rose a bit, straightening his back to the challenging words. "I propose we come out of the shadows, lay claim to our deeds, and face any challengers that come for their pound of flesh."

Everyone expressed various forms of disapproval, but Aurora's reaction took hold of the room, "Bastardo!" she denounced as she exploded out of her chair. "You have been laying waste to everything we've built since you left prison. You've stolen wealth from our own," she gestured at Isoken, "you've stolen secret, illegal tech from Vishkar," she said gesturing at Sanjay, " and you've stolen the God program, of all things," Aurora threw up her hands in exhaustion.

"I will not stand for this Maximilien," she address at the Omnic. "My husband died to this beast, and you force me to sit through this!"

The room went dead silent.

 _So, she did know,_ Sombra thought to herself. Sombra slowly started putting pieces together. This woman was already extremely dangerous if she was in this room, at this meeting. Doomfist, presumably, knew everyone coming to this meeting. There's no way her presence was a surprise. He planned this knowing at least one member had a personal vendetta against him. At least that explains all the extra support he's brought.

Most of the room was silently shocked at the statement. Maximilien's reaction was different, though. He looked away slightly. Guilt? Had he known too?

"He tried to have _me_ killed," Doomfist explained. "I was only returning the favor."

"As am I," replied Aurora, and in that same breath, she threw a small disc at Doomfist. The sudden attack, however potentially dangerous, was not the cue Sombra was waiting for. So, in agony, she remained invisible and unreactive to events.

This was not the case for Doomfist. He raised his gauntlet reflexively, providing a place for the disc to land, on the knuckles. With a metallic clink, like a magnet, the disc attached itself to the gauntlet, and by proxy, Doomfist. It released blue bolts of electricity into Doomfist. Sparks rained from the gauntlet as the shocks brought him to his knees.

Moira had no qualms about reacting to the attack either. As she abruptly stood from her chair, she raised her left hand at Doomfirst, and her right hand at Aurora. The hand aimed at Doomfist released her biotic healing gas. The hand aimed at Aurora unleashed a purple tendril that latched onto Aurora, sucking the life out of her.

The electricity didn't stop coursing through Doomfist, but he rose from his knees anyway, as the yellow healing gas washed over him. Aurora began to wither and slump from Moira's tendril. From her slump, she grabbed a gun from somewhere hidden. Making a strained effort to fight Moira's attack, she took aim at Moira.

Before the first shot went off, Moira vanished from her seat, literally. At the same time, Doomfist reached his arm back, like loading a gun. Electricity still pulsed from his gauntlet as he threw his punch at the hard-light glass, separating the room from the rest of the city.

The glass shattered, along with whatever device Aurora had initially thrown at him. And as soon as the bullet-proof, hard-light glass had vanished, a single sniper shot rang out. A bullet trail lead from the room to one of the several buildings surrounding the area. It would have been easy to miss the two separate sounds if one wasn't listening closely. But the _result_ of the shot clarified events for everyone. Aurora lay motionless, unnaturally prostrated over the table. Blood pooled around her.

 _So that's where Widowmaker was hiding_ , Sombra thought to herself.

This all happened in the span of a couple of seconds. Luca and Marco had had only enough time to take refuge under that same table that Aurora's corpse now laid upon. Still in his chair, Sanjay sat in horror, his eyes fixed upon Aurora's body. Sometime during the fight, a purple, polygon shield had enveloped Sanjay and his entire chair.

Maximilien had no such shield, nor reaction to the blood. Instead, his head had been caught by his hand in a gesture of exhaustion and frustration.

"Akande, what have you done?" he asked, mostly to himself.

Moira appeared in the corner of the room, right next to the unseen Sombra. _Was she grouping up for a defense? Or was just just hoping the next shot would hit me?_

Doomfist stood relaxed at the window he'd just shattered. The room wasn't especially high above the ground, but the wind still whipped through the room dramatically. Without turning away from the city, Doomfist replied, matter-of-factly, "She attacked me first."

The hand previously holding Maximillien's head suddenly slammed onto the table. The bang from his hand startled everyone again, but Sombra wasn't sure if that was because the sound was so similar to another gunshot, or because they'd never seen Maximillien so angry.

"You baited her into attacking," Maximillien nearly shouted, while still somehow maintaining that unnerving, evenly-spoken cadence to his voice that only Omnics can produce. "Do not use your half-truths on _me,_ Akande," he concluded, as if he was somehow narrowing his eyes at Doomfist.

Doomfist did something truly surprising that Sombra had not expected. He recoiled at the Omnic's words, as if he'd been hurt. _Did Doomfist care about what this Omnic thought of him?_

Maximillien straighten up, as if preparing for his speech. "I'm disappointed, Akande. I had high hopes for your initiative, but you've chosen a path of aggression that is inherently unsustainable." His words seemed even more formal, as if he were reading out a verdict.

Seemingly in response to the Omnic's words, armed guards appeared from thin air, decloaking from their hiding spots around the conference room. Apparently Doomfist wasn't the only person keeping invisible backup nearby.

Isoken and Luca didn't show any reaction to the guards. Either they had been clued-in, or they have a pretty good poker face. Sanjay clearly had neither of those things. He nearly jumped out of his skin, shouting, "Gods! Have they been here this whole time?".

Doomfist lowered himself into a fighting stance, preparing for a fight with a wicked grin on his face. "Just try me," he mused openly.

 _Try me_. There's the signal. Time to make a move.

Sombra effortlessly stepped into sight, waving her arms across her chest, as if throwing curtains open. The gesture of her arms felt like stretching after a long nap. From her extended arms, a wave on energy released in a sphere that encompassed the whole room, hacking every device it touched.

All electronic devices sputtered and sparked, letting their owners know of the failed states. The armed guards, half surprised by another invisible person, and half surprised by most of their gear not working, were ill-prepared for the fight they had just started.

All at once, Doomfist released his punches, Moira spun purple tendrils, Widowmaker fired shots at soon-to-be corpses, and Sombra wrought chaos.

It was hard to tell what exactly happened when all of the fighting stopped. Corpses were splayed carelessly around the room. But one thing was for sure: the leaders of Talon had escaped.

"It looks like they got away," Moira noted disappointedly as she surveyed the damage.

"It makes no difference now," Doomfist explained. "We're moving forward."


End file.
